


Dear Brother

by Bloodbone



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Brotherly Angst, Bullying, Child Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse, Poor kid is buff from holding my trauma in his arms together as I throw stuff at him, Psychological Torture, Remus is very not redeemable or nice in this story, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, So much projecting on Roman, The new video gave me so many new ideas, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-29 13:11:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19400995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodbone/pseuds/Bloodbone
Summary: Roman and Remus didn't have a regular childhood. For once, they weren't human, but Sides. Second, Remus tended to... hurt people. Especially Roman.Being the twin brother of a Dark Side is hard enough; being the twin brother of the Side that is a warped version of you was something else entirely.Or: What happen when I throw my trauma at Roman in hope for him to catch it and carry it for me.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This was born because [@Lilfella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilfella/pseuds/Lilfella) made me sad as we speculated on tumblr about Roman's childhood with Remus so I had to write it. I'm weak ya'll. This fic is too much self projection and tears glued together, please practice self care and take breaks if you need to. This fic is very not nice and deals with part of my very huge cptsd and trauma collection so be warned. And again, big shoutout to the amazing @Lilfella as they betad this and helped with basically everything and also the reason this is got posted here and not kept in google drive. Go look at their writing because they are amazing and their writing is amazing and give them love ya'll. If you see any problem or mistakes or need to add tags/warnings please tell me so I can fix/add stuff.  
> trigger warning for the chapter: mentions of cutting/stabbing, possible drowning, mention of death and possibility of a child dying, panic attacks

Creativity loved Thomas, and Thomas loved his Creativity. The five year old human loved to create, explore, and go on adventures. It was so simple when Thomas was younger, Creativity mused. Lately he felt weird, more jittery, but the usual exploring wasn’t exactly… cutting it. Now  **that's** a thought - Creativity always wondered if people actually got injured like in the movies. Do people die? What will happen if he will take a knife and stab something? Will he be able to monologue? He started to feel queasy. Those were Bad Thoughts, Adult Thoughts that some older kids talked about in parks and libraries about scary, adult movies. Creativity didn’t like that thought, it was a Scary Thought. He remembered last night that Thomas thought there were skeletons in his closet. He was so scared from what Creativity thought could be funny, and Creativity  **hated** it. He wanted Thomas to be happy. Like before. He nudged Thomas to go ask his parents if he could have a Disney party. Those were always fun! They would sit and watch Disney and it would be so fun and happy and no more Bad Thoughts will happen! He would stop feeling bad and Thomas would be happy. 

And then it was time for cookies and party and Creativity forgot all about it. Just like every day.

He still felt Bad, sometimes, every day, but it was okay! He could play with the other Sides, and with Thomas, and Thomas could play with adventures and have fun and have parties for his plushies and pillow forts and go to church with the other kids (Church was Boring and full of stuff he didn’t get or understand but Thomas’ parents wanted him to go with them and there were nice people there and when they went he could wear Super Special Clothes that were a little itchy but made him feel Special, like a prince. And then there would be Super Special food after, and he would play Super Special games he made up exactly for Super Special days) and go to kindergarten and have fun and learn (Logic loved learning more but Creativity liked it too. He discovered the more Thomas knew he could make more stuff, and that stuff always was more awesome as he learned more. But it was so Boring sometimes. That was also a Bad Thought, he thought grumpily, and shoved it back again, because he didn’t wanna be Bad or a Villain. That was not really fun).

And so it continued, until the Pool Incident.

Creativity loved-hated the pool, and Thomas loved-hated it too. Hated because the pool smelled a lot most of the of time, and he couldn’t run or jump or push or be too loud or go on amazing adventures outside; loved, because he could get in the water and to swim and splash (a little, not a lot of splashing), and play games of hide and seek in the water and chase Thomas’ Parents and giggle and invent stories of pirates and princes and fairies and dolphins and cute fishies with Patrick and Christian and Shea. Now when he looked at the dazzling color of the pool and how the sun shined on it he felt so  **excited** and  **happy** and there were no Bad Thoughts, only the stories he can tell and play. It was a hot day, and Thomas and Shea, excitable children, ran forward, giggling and chasing each other, stopping a little bit before the pool, remembering what their mommy and daddy told them about not running near the pool. They were impatient, and young, and Creativity was so dizzy and happy from the pool and the prospect of adventures.

He should have known better.

Thomas was starting to get tired and grumpy, and worse of all, Bored. He was hungry and tired and Shea was starting to annoy him, running around when  **he** couldn’t, and every plan Creativity came up with was Bad or Boring, and a thought came to him (why couldn’t he go to the deep part of the pool, what did Patrick and Christian did to be able to go there, it wasn’t  **fair,** and that was a Bad Thought too, and he was so tired of Bad Thoughts), and in desperation, Creativity thought  _ What if we explore the Super Special part of the pool _ and then Thomas was off. The only problem was Shea.

“Tommy! I wanna come too!”

Creativity loved Shea, he did. Thomas also loved Shea. He was an amazing younger brother, and sure he could be annoying sometimes but he was cute and fun and had awesome ideas for adventure and always wanted to go on adventures when Patrick and Christian didn’t wanna or were busy. But the deep part of the pool was Super Special and he wanted something Super Special for himself for once. And besides Shea didn't really know how to swim, and Thomas did, so he couldn't explore the deep part of the pool anyway. He was also very Bored and tired and didn't want to be with Shea right now. Shea was awesome but he wanted alone time too.

“No Shea, I wanna be alone now.”

Shea lower lip started to tremble. Creativity felt Bad, because Thomas felt Bad, and Morality was probably crying in his room. But he was also angry - it wasn’t fair! He wanted to explore without Shea, Shea did a lot of exploration without Thomas too!

Shea started crying.

“You are the worst brother ever!” he wailed, snot and tears start to flow, and then he pushed Thomas. It wasn’t fair either! He wasn’t allowed to push! Creativity wondered what happened if Thomas would push back, and Thomas did, because six years olds don’t have much of a filter, and then Shea was screaming and falling in the water, and Thomas remembered where they were and Creativity started to feel dizzy and Bad and Thomas started screaming for help. There was a lot of crying and Patrick quickly helped Shea out. There were several very important and stern conversations but Creativity didn’t care about them. He didn’t see the lying, or ashamed face, or heard the conversations or the fact they were grounded.

Because for the first time he acted on a Bad Thought and something Bad happened. He knew water was dangerous if you couldn't swim. Shea couldn’t swim.

He caused Shea to be in danger. And he wasn’t even feeling bad about it. Thomas did, because Thomas is not a bad person. He had Morality and Logic and the Others. Creativity was just Creativity.

He felt hot all over, and sad, and a little happy, but not Bad.

He didn’t want to be Bad. but he did something Bad. He didn’t feel so good now, when he thought about it. He didn’t like the feeling, and wanted it gone.

And suddenly the world crumpled, and shuddered, and it split in two exactly when Thomas mommy said “He could have **died** , Thomas!”

She only called Thomas his name when she was angry. Shea could have **died** .

Death was a mystical thing to Creativity. A thing kept to Old people or Really Sick people or Evil and Bad people, especially Villains. Villains died from falling. Shea fell. Shea wasn’t Bad or a Villain. He wondered if that made him a Villain.

He didn’t want to be a Villain anymore. He wanted to keep doing Funny Stuff to people. But Funny Stuff was Bad. But Bad Stuff was fun, and Funny. But Bad stuff  **wasn’t** fun **or** Funny.

And his world crumpled again, and he felt hot all over, and tired, and nauseated, so he curled into a ball and closed his eyes and then.

Then Original Creativity was no more.

Instead there were two identical looking, six years old Sides. They had the same clothes as Original Creativity, and the same face, snoring softly on Original Creativity’s bed inside Original Creativity’s room.

Somewhere outside of Thomas’ brain, Thomas was crying because Shea wouldn’t talk to him.

He didn’t want to be a Bad person.

And he wasn’t.

Somewhere, inside his brain, lay two twin Sides, freshly split in two, and their clothes were rapidly changing. Now there were two twin Sides, snoring softly, one in clothes that turned darker by the minute and the other in clothes that got whiter by the minute.

Thomas went to sleep, grounded and grumpy and sad and feeling empty.

Somewhere, inside his brain, two identical-and-yet-not-identical Sides were stirring, dreaming up dreams for him. Tomorrow, there would be adventures and things to explore and create.

Right now, they slept, and dreamt. The Side in darkening clothes started twitching, smiling, as the Side in the lightening clothes started twitching and scrunching his face in confusion.

Somewhere, outside of his brain, Thomas was waking up crying from a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come bother me at [@fantasy-loving-witchling](https://fantasy-loving-witchling.tumblr.com/)


	2. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams are a powerful thing. Too bad power corrupts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I started writing the chapter, scrapped it and wrote it again and I'm way happier with that version, even though I wrote it completely sleep deprived. Shout-out to [@Lilfella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilfella) and [@Swan_Song](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swan_Song) for listening to my spit-balling and helping me realize what bugs me about the chapter and that I wanna and should change it if I don't like it (and Swan_Song read both of those drafts and was really amazing and supportive!)
> 
> Tw/cw for the chapter: wetting yourself, nightmares, bullying, angst, getting hurt, death threats/wishes, name calling, sleep deprivation, body horror, disturbing imagery, fear of being eaten and tortured, child abuse, panic attacks
> 
> as usual, let me know if tags and/or triggers need to be added!

Morality woke up, screaming and hiccuping. He vaguely registered that Thomas was suffering, sadness and horror and fear mixing in all sorts of icky emotions. Blindly he grabbed the comfort blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders, hiding in it as he quickly sprinted across the room and into the hall to the room opposite to his. It was dark, which didn’t help, and in his panic he forgot about knocking, swinging the door open and launching himself into the room, closing the door behind him, trying not to cry as he inched closer to Logic’s bed, tears stinging his eyes as he hiccuped. Logic stirred, mumbling to himself, brow furrowed, tears staining his cheeks. The six years old Side shook the other one frantically, whimpers and hiccups escaping his throat and tears slowly rolling down his cheeks.

“L-Lolo p-p-please w-wake u-up. P-please.” he whimpered, fear clenching his heart. What if the nightmare was true, what if -

Logic blinked owlishly at him, squinting and scared. “Mo, wha’ ‘appened?” he mumbled, sleep evident in his voice. Morality launched himself into the six year old arms, sobbing in his shirt, too distraught to form words.

“Tho-”, he hiccuped, “-omy ‘s havin’ B-B-B-” he barely managed to explain, but it was enough and Logic felt his heart clenching, his breath stuck in his throat. Logic was brave, he knew the dream wasn’t real. Thomas’ mom said so all the time, that dreams are not real, just his brain trying to understand stuff. He held to that like a lifeline when Thomas had a nightmare, a chant of “it's not real, it's not real, it's not real”. But now, with Morality sobbing and flinching in fear, and with his throat burning and the tears managing to escape his eyes, remembering the nightmare ( _ run, run before they catch you, why is the floor so slippery, the fish will eat you, why does it smell like poop, OH GOD IT IS STARING AT ME RUN RUN IT WILL EAT YOU- _ ) he wasn’t so sure anymore.

Stuff that aren’t real can’t make you cry, right? Fake things can’t… fake things are… fake. They can’t do anything to you.

Right?

* * *

The Side-With-White-Clothes woke up, startled. He felt… Bad. In some part of his brain he knew feeling Bad was… Bad. Not Good. Not Nice. He felt something wet on his cheek, and the gross feeling of goop in his eyes, and that the bed under him was wet and kinda smelly. That felt Bad too but for a different reason. He didn’t want to feel bad, and he didn’t want the wet patch under him or the smell. 

_ I wish I was clean and not smelly and not feeling Bad _ , he thought. Immediately the smell was gone, replaced by a nice, sweet smell, and the wetness was gone, only the soft sheets under him. The Bad Feeling, however, didn’t vanish, and he felt somewhat cheated, and even worse, because now everything was clean and he  **still** felt Bad. He felt empty, and scared. It was dark, and it made him even more scared because he couldn’t see, and if he couldn’t see, it means that there could be monsters, monsters that wait for him under the bed and in the closet and under the rug, waiting to trip him and take him away and eat him. He didn’t want to be taken away! He didn’t want to be eaten and-and-and-

There was a loud crash next to him and a startled yelp, and he flinched even further in, flailing to try and climb farther away from the noise; and just like the other Side, he fell on the floor with a loud crash, pain shooting up on his body, making him feel Bad all over, making him wail and whimper in pain. But nobody came, aside from the shuffling on the other side of the bed, and the six years old side whimpered and tried climbing back up, trying not to cry, not wanting the monsters to come and get him. He thought that if he could get back on the bed, nothing could hurt him, if only he would be brave. The bed creaked as something shuffled again and he grabbed the bed quickly, standing on shaking legs and pulling himself up, hiccuping, breath hitching, as he finally, **finally** , managed to climb on the bed, curling into a ball. The Bad feeling only worsened, emptiness and sadness and terror fighting in his little heart along with nausea.

And then he felt  **something** touching him and he screamed, flailing his arms. A hand clamped on his mouth and he bit, crying and screaming in panic all along, hitting and flailing his arms in hope of catching the monster and hitting it, everything to make it  **go away** . 

“Shhh! Do you wanna the monsters to come!?” came the shrill voice, and the Side-With-White-Clothes stopped in his tracks because the only thing scarier than the monster holding him were monsters that a monster was afraid of. He still whimpered but tried to make his wailing quiet down into a hiccups, holding the tears inside him, breath hitching and bubbling in his throat, the taste of tears and snot and water clawing at the back of his tongue. The hand was still covering his mouth.

“If you don’t stay q-silent, the monsters will come and eat you!” the voice said, anger and a bit of smugness in his tone.”There’s a  **giant monster** un-un-under the bed, and it has weird eyes and it looks like a duck but also a squid thingy with the weird arms and it smells and has blood and gross stuff all over it andandandandddd and!” ,the voice stopped to breath, “and! It likes to eat cry babies like you!”

That only made him burst back into tears. “S-s-s-s-st-to-ooop iiiii-iiit!” he cried, shoving the other monster off him, or at least the hand that covered his mouth. 

“I only told ya the truth!”

“N-n-noooo! nO! I DON'T BELIEVE YOU!!” he screamed, tears streaming down his face as he shoved fingers in his ears, covering them with his palms as he cried even harder, throat raw and aching, his whole body shaking like a leaf, salt stinging his eyes.

“You are a-a cry baby! You are stupid! I hope the monster eats you and I will never play with you and you are the worst brother ever and I hope you die!” the other one shouted at him (his brain stopped in his tracks from hearing the other one saying  _ brother _ , since when he had a brother) before shoving him down from the bed. “Cry babies don’t sleep on the bed! Cry babies sleep on the floor s-so the monsters will eat them cause they are cry babies! Go away! You woke me up and-and-and and you are horrible and stupid and you cry and annoying and I hate you and I hope the monster under the bed eat you but even the monsters probably think you are stupid!”

And so he curled on the floor, shivering and crying and sobbing. It was painful all over and he felt so Bad and empty and horrible and stupid and his throat was closing up as tears prickled in his eyes and his chest felt hot and heavy all over and he just wanted to curl in place and hope the darkness swallows him. He felt a hot burning sensation and the Bad smell returned again and he was wet all over, the stink stinging in his nose as snot and tears poured down his shirt, making his clothes Not-So-White.

And so the Side-With-Not-So-White-Clothes lay down in a miserable pile, crying and sobbing and shaking and shivering on the rug, sniffling and trying with all his might not to cry so hard to not anger the monster on the bed, and in hope no monster will come to drag him away and eat him. Even when he started feeling exhausted from the crying he made his eyes stay wide and open, too afraid to blink, imagining horrible horrors in every corner as the Side-With-Dark-Clothes that started to turn from Dark to Pure-Pitch-Black slept somewhat soundly, if a little bit bothered by the noise. The Side-With-Pure-Pitch-Black-Clothes didn’t feel Bad or Wrong. He felt Happy and Nice and Bored and Fun and Funny.

After all, it wasn’t his fault the other one was a stupid cry baby.

**Author's Note:**

> Come bother me over at [@fantasy-loving-witchling](https://fantasy-loving-witchling.tumblr.com/)


End file.
